


Memory is a Tricky Thing

by TheRaven



Series: Memory [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRaven/pseuds/TheRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finally tracks Bucky down, and he's determined not to leave until Bucky remembers everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory is a Tricky Thing

**Author's Note:**

> For the love of all that is good in the world, I swear I didn't mean to make this a healing cock fic. My intentions were good, I promise. All I wanted was happy, Bucky-gets-his-memory-back fic. The rest just sort of happened. Please be gentle with me, too, because this is my first and likely only foray into Avengers fic. I hope this is more sweet than ridiculous, and I hope y'all enjoy.

He has an apartment. A terribly cramped one in a terribly bad part of town, but it's still radically different to how Steve imagined he'd be living: squatting in abandoned buildings or living in the woods, wherever he could be alone. Instead, Bucky has a name, a job. He pays rent on time, said his landlord when Steve tracked him down, and he's always quiet. It's more than Steve can process at first.

There is time, however, before Bucky returns from work, for Steve to think it over. And for him to wonder if Bucky may not want to be found. If he has a life now, he may just want to be left alone. But Steve has come this far, searched this long, so he might as well see it through to the end. He waits in the only chair in the tiny square of space that constitutes a living room and tries not to be nervous.

The key turns in the lock several hours later. Steve thinks about getting up, but he doesn't want to seem threatening. It's why he's showed up in street clothes and unarmed. The door opens a crack, then stops. Bucky knows something is wrong. Steve doesn't say a word; he's suddenly paralyzed with something that isn't quite fear. The door opens slowly, and Bucky is in the doorway with a knife.

He sees Steve and slowly lowers the knife, an expression halfway between surprise and relief on his face. He still has long hair, and he's still not quite clean-shaven, but it's unmistakably him. Steve smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Bucky says hesitantly.

“I'm not here to hurt you, don't worry,” Steve tells him, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace. “I just wanted to...”

What does he want to do? He's here, and he's finally found Bucky, but to what end? Steve licks his lips and shrugs.

“I guess I wanted to help you,” he says finally.

Bucky takes a step inside and sets the knife on the table by the door. He looks down at the threadbare mat he's placed just inside of the apartment. Steve's shoes are placed neatly at the upper right corner where he won't trip over them, but he can't see them right now because the door is still open. Bucky steps further inside and closes the door. He mechanically removes his boots and places them next to Steve's shoes, then straightens up and looks down at Steve.

“Why would you help me?” Bucky asks.

“Because you're my friend,” Steve replies immediately, sincerely.

“I don't know you,” Bucky says in a tone that could be interpreted as regretful.

“You just don't remember me,” Steve says. “I can help you remember. If you let me.”

“How do you plan to do that, now?” Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I'm not sure,” Steve replies, and he stands up.

Bucky takes a step back, reaches for the knife. But Steve is clearly unarmed, has even draped his jacket over the back of the chair for lack of a better place to put it, and he doesn't want to fight. That much is clear, so Bucky crosses his arms over his chest again and looks at him curiously.

“Do you want some coffee?” he asks after a full minute of silence.

“Sure,” Steve replies. “If you're having some.”

Bucky makes a noncommittal gesture and walks the few steps to the kitchen. It's clean, if bare, and there's an old coffee maker that still looks remarkably high-tech to Steve's eyes sitting on the counter. Bucky takes a canister of coffee and a filter and prepares a pot of coffee, silent and stiff in his movements. Steve doesn't want to say anything for fear of upsetting him.

Bucky pours two cups of coffee and hands him one chipped, mismatched mug. He doesn't ask if Steve wants cream or sugar, which is just fine with Steve. They drink their coffee without speaking, until Steve can't stand it any longer and has to say something.

“John Smith?” he asks. “Really?”

“I couldn't be bothered to think of a better name,” Bucky said with a shrug. “And it makes me hard to pick out from all the other John Smiths.”

“Anonymity is a good thing when you're on the run,” Steve agrees.

“I wouldn't say I'm on the run,” Bucky replies with just the hint of a smile. “I'm comfortable right here.”

“You know what I mean,” Steve says.

Bucky shrugs again and puts his empty mug in the sink. Steve downs the rest of his coffee and hands him his mug. Theirs are the only dishes in the sink. Bucky may not remember anything about his life, but the habits of a soldier are still clearly present in the spotlessness of the apartment and the utilitarian nature of every object in it. Steve clasps his hands behind his back and waits for him to speak again.

“Why are you here?” Bucky asks after a short silence. “Why are you really here?”

“I want you to remember,” Steve replies simply.

“What if I don't want to remember?” Bucky asks him. “What if I'm happy being John Smith? What if I don't want to dwell on the past? What if I'd rather make new memories than recover my old ones?”

“You and I both know that's not true,” Steve insists. “If it was, you would have let me die. Or killed me yourself.”

“Not killing you doesn't mean I want to remember you,” Bucky says.

“Then why didn't you kick me out when you saw me here?” Steve asks. “Or even ask me how I got in here?”

Bucky blinks. He leans against the counter, watching Steve, for a long time. Then he pushes off of it and approaches, stopping within arm's reach of him.

“I swear you were shorter,” he says softly, expression unreadable.

“You're remembering already,” Steve tells him. “Let me help you.”

“If I do,” Bucky says hesitantly, “will you promise not to leave when I remember everything?”

It's an unexpected request, though not entirely surprising. Remembering could be traumatic, and no one would want to be left alone to sift through everything on their own. Steve smiles warmly and nods.

“I wouldn't dream of leaving you alone,” he says.

Bucky brushes his hair out of his face. His stare is somewhat disconcerting, piercing and unrelenting. He holds eye contact almost constantly, only looking away when he has to. His gloved hands clench into fists and relax again every so often. Steve isn't sure how to proceed.

“You act like we were close,” Bucky says, solving the problem for him.

A jolt of grief runs through him, and his stomach feels like lead. Steve hadn't expected it to hurt so much, coming from Bucky. He knows that he can't have expected anything different, what with how he's been acting and Bucky's near-complete lack of memory, but it's still difficult. He swallows hard and looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts.

“We were,” he says quietly. “We were as close as two people can get. We grew up together, even.”

“It was more than that,” Bucky tells him, expression still unreadable. “You act like it was more than that.”

Steve feels that jolt again, though this time it's mixed with longing. He's been trying to hide it since he picked the lock and settled in the chair to wait, but he's obviously not doing a good enough job of it. Steve clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, it was.”

How does he tell him about those nights they spent together, first while they were in Brooklyn and Bucky had to be so careful with him, and then after Steve rescued him, and he was the one being careful? How can he begin to explain how, even more than Peggy, Bucky made him feel like he was a real, valuable person? How Bucky made him feel like he wasn't a failure for being short and scrawny, and how he made him feel like he wasn't a freak after they pumped him full of superman serum?

“So what do you want to do about that?” Bucky asks him, startling him out of his reverie.

“I'm not sure,” Steve admits. “I didn't really have a plan beyond finding you.”

Bucky bites his lip.

“Well,” he says carefully, “if what you said was true...”

“What are you suggesting?” Steve asks, but he thinks he knows.

“It's stupid,” Bucky says, “but nothing's worked so far.”

With that, he bridges the gap between them, gently puts his gloved hand on Steve's waist, and looks him straight in the eyes. When Steve doesn't pull away, he smiles sadly and kisses him.

It's brief, chaste, and it feels like Bucky is focusing everything he has into it. He steps back and closes his eyes, hugging himself like he can force himself to remember. Steve watches him and sees him trembling ever so slightly from concentration.

“Anything?” he asks, lips and hip still burning from the contact.

“Were we...in the military?” Bucky asks slowly.

“Not together, not until the end, but yes,” Steve says. “The Army.”

“Then I remember something,” Bucky replies with a small smile.

He opens his eyes and carefully takes off his gloves, then his jacket. His metal arm gleams in the fluorescent light. Bucky seems almost ashamed of it, gripping his wrist loosely after he sets the gloves and jacket down and looking away. His shirt is threadbare, probably second-hand, as are his jeans. Steve feels slightly over-dressed and uncomfortable with Bucky's discomfort.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“No,” Bucky replies. “How could I be? I'm trying to remember everything that happened to me before I woke up as the Winter Soldier. And I'm pretty sure some of it is going to be torture. Not to mention I'm trying to remember everything I lost.”

Steve nods.

“I'm sorry this happened to you,” he says. “If I could have, I would've saved you from it.”

“From what I've learned about you, I believe you,” Bucky replies.

He takes another step back and turns his back on Steve. For a second, Steve thinks he's going to ask him to leave, but he just gestures for him to follow him and heads for the short hallway at the other end of the apartment.

There are three rooms along the hallway. The first is the bathroom, which looks as spotless as the rest of the apartment through the crack in the door. The second looks like a closet, and the third is the bedroom. This last room is where Bucky goes, gesturing again for Steve to follow him.

The bedroom is entirely bare save for a bed, a nightstand, and a small dresser. Bucky turns on the overhead light and stands in the middle of the small room, arms crossed over his chest again. He looks vulnerable, even with his impressive physique, and Steve doesn't know what to say to him to make this better. The memories are coming back slowly, maybe as slowly as they would without him there, and what he wants to do now may be too much for Bucky. So he stands by the door and watches.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks point-blank.

“I want my friend back,” Steve answers. “I want you back. You're the only one left who—who would understand me. Peggy is—the only other person from our Army days has dementia and can't remember what's going on half the time.”

“And you think you can get my memories back?” Bucky asks. “Who's to say they're not gone forever like Peggy's?”

“I know they're not,” Steve says. “You're remembering already. It will come back to you. I just have to figure out how to help unlock them.”

“I went to your museum, you know,” Bucky says abruptly. “I read everything. And nothing happened. It was like I was reading about it for the first time. I did so much research. I saw my name everywhere. The name you keep calling me, anyway. I even found an editorial questioning whether we were...together. And none of it felt like my own past.”

Steve clenches his fists. He hadn't expected that. Bucky, reading everything he could find about his life and not remembering a single bit of it? That was heartbreaking. Almost as heartbreaking as losing him the second time. Steve swallows and tries to stay positive.

“Maybe you just need a push,” he says.

“What kind of push?” Bucky asks.

“I don't know,” Steve replies, but he has an idea.

Bucky does, too, it looks like, because he sits down on the bed and sighs. His arms fall to his sides, and he looks up at Steve with a determined but weary look on his face.

“Come here,” he says. “If we were really...together before...”

Steve obediently sits next to him on the bed. Their hips and thighs touch. Bucky turns to him, and he gently touches Steve's jaw with his fingertips. His hand settles against his jawline, cupping his face, and he kisses him again.

This time, it's longer, an open-mouthed and searching kiss. Bucky's tongue tentatively brushes his own, and Steve barely restrains himself. As far as Bucky's concerned, he's still a stranger. No matter what Steve's body remembers, he has to be careful not to scare him. So he settles for placing his hand on Bucky's waist, curling the other into a fist in his lap.

Bucky doesn't seem to want to touch him with his metal arm. Maybe he remembers what that arm had done. But Steve can't say for sure, just that Bucky keeps his metal arm firmly on the bed while he kisses him. They break for air, and Bucky immediately leans in again. Bucky maps the inside of his mouth with his tongue, and Steve does the same when he lets him. Steve's other hand moves up to pull Bucky closer, half on top of him.

“I missed you so much,” Steve gasps when they take another break for air. “Even though I was asleep for most of it, I felt your absence for seventy years.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Bucky says, “but with luck, I'll be able to soon.”

So he believes him. This brings a warmth to Steve's chest separate from Bucky's body heat and Steve's own desire. He believes him, and he wants to feel the same way Steve does, even if it's painful. There's an incredible amount of trust here that isn't lost on Steve, and he tucks a lock of Bucky's hair behind his ear and smiles at him.

“You can touch me if you want to,” Steve says.

Bucky looks uncertain. His grip on Steve's waist tightens a little, and he looks away for a moment like he's afraid he'll hurt him. It's the same look Steve saw so many times before the serum, and it gives him hope that Bucky's body is remembering even if his mind still has to catch up. Steve takes his metal hand and places it on his hip.

“Don't worry,” he says. “I can handle it. Super-soldier, remember?”

“No,” Bucky replies, “but I read about it.”

Bucky's metal fingers creep under the hem of Steve's shirt, but even the cold metal burns against his skin. Steve eases his restraint a little the next time their mouths meet, and Bucky responds with increasing fervor. Bucky's metal fingers inch upward until he presses his palm flat against Steve's ribs, rapidly-warming metal thumb rubbing circles into his flesh. If not for the lack of give, Steve could trick himself into thinking the metal arm was an ordinary one of skin and bone and muscle. But every time he looks, the silver flash of it brings him back to reality.

It makes him angry. They took his friend from him. They took his memory, his autonomy, and even his arm. Whether it was damaged before they removed it is immaterial. They violated his mind and mutilated his body, and the very thought of it sets fire through Steve's veins that has nothing to do with his steadily increasing desire.

Bucky moves his flesh-and-blood hand up Steve's side, pushing his shirt up until all the skin up to his lowermost ribs is exposed. He looks down at Steve's taut stomach and back up to meet his gaze, hands barely trembling against him. He blinks.

“Can I...?” he asks.

“You mean may you,” Steve replies with a grin, “but yeah, go ahead.”

Bucky leans back just enough to pull Steve's shirt over his head. His own shirt follows suit, and Steve mourns privately over the web of scars that join his flesh to the metal arm. Instead of saying anything, though, he traces the ones he can see with his fingertips and presses a kiss to the junction of skin and metal. Bucky visibly shivers.

“I'm remembering the torture now,” he says a moment later, and his whole body shakes.

“I'm sorry,” Steve says immediately. “Did I—?”

“No,” Bucky says. “I need to remember. I remember feeling cold to my bones, thoughts numbing until I couldn't think at all. I remember—Jesus, I remember how they wiped my mind. I remember the agony of it. How every time felt like the first time, even though I knew somewhere that they'd done it before. I remember coming out of the numbness and accepting orders that were given to me.”

Shuddering, Bucky reaches out to wrap his arms around him. He mumbles something else, but Steve doesn't catch it. They sit there for a time, Bucky with his head buried in Steve's shoulder and his heartbeat frantic against his chest, until Bucky calms down. It takes what feels like hours, but it's probably only several minutes. Steve feels hot tears against his skin, but when Bucky releases him, he doesn't look like he's been crying. Every trace of emotion save for the drying tracks of tears is gone. For a moment, he looks like the Winter Soldier again.

“Talk to me,” Steve says, wanting that expression to go away as quickly as possible.

“I remember falling,” he says, “but I don't remember why or how. Just that there was snow.”

“You fell from the train,” Steve tells him. “We were—it was part of a mission.”

“So I read,” Bucky says dully.

“Come here,” Steve says.

It's strange to kiss him now, with the beginnings of a beard prickling at Steve's skin when Bucky used to be clean-shaven, but he remembers the way Bucky kissed him like he could steal his soul. Now, Bucky gives him that feeling again as he attacks his mouth. Steve is suddenly reminded of clandestine meetings in the brief time they had between when Bucky was rescued and when he disappeared again when Bucky would suck bruises into his shoulder, easily covered but still dangerous. Bucky's lips travels down his jaw to his throat, and for a second, Steve thinks he'll bruise him there, but he moves on to the muscle between throat and shoulder and back up to his mouth without leaving a mark.

Bucky straddles him, and when he grinds against him, Steve feels how hard he is. His own erection isn't exactly flagging, either, but it still surprises him to feel how much Bucky's body wants him even though the man himself can't remember anything about him. Steve pulls him toward him again and gives a little gasp of laughter when Bucky clutches at his back hard enough to leave little furrows where his fingernails and the tips of his metal fingers dig into his flesh. 

“Do you remember anything else?” Steve asks, a little breathy.

“No,” Bucky replies, “but this feels familiar.”

This time, when he moves down Steve's neck and onto his shoulders, he bites hard and sucks a mark into the skin halfway between his throat and shoulder. Steve shivers, both with pleasure and with recognition. Bucky bucks against him, and Steve decides there are still too many clothes between them.

“Here, get up for a second,” he says, unbuckling Bucky's belt.

Bucky obliges, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Steve unbuckles his own belt and has his trousers halfway off before he notices Bucky hadn't been wearing underwear. This changes things slightly. He tries not to stare, because even though he wants to and even though it probably would even be appropriate in this situation, he can't stop thinking about how Bucky still doesn't know him. Still, he sneaks a peek, and Bucky's skin is flushed, and his cock glistens with precome. Steve licks his lips and settles Bucky back onto his thighs, still wearing his own underwear because he's not entirely sure he's ready to have that much of Bucky's skin against him.

Which isn't to say there isn't plenty of Bucky's skin against him now. The tip of his erection drags along Steve's belly when he moves against him, and his thighs tremble against his. Carefully, Steve lays them back on the bed so their their bodies are flush against each other, and he feels Bucky's breathing and his erratic heartbeat through his skin. They lay together for a solid minute before Bucky moves again, grinding their hips together and breathing raggedly in his ear.

“This feels so familiar,” Bucky gasps. “Why can't I remember?”

“Don't force it,” Steve says. “Just—just take it slow.”

“I'm done taking it slow,” Bucky says. “You're not going to break me. I'm strong, too, you know.”

With that, Bucky lifts himself off of Steve just enough to jerk his briefs down to his knees. Steve pulls in a hiss of air at the additional contact when Bucky lowers himself again and wriggles ungracefully to get his underwear off of his legs so he can move better. He wraps a leg around Bucky's waist and moves with him, spreading precome with his hand and letting them both rut up into his curled fingers.

Bucky's hips stutter against Steve's, and Steve knows he's close to the edge. Steve is, too, but he can hold off a little longer, especially if it means Bucky comes first. Bucky pants in Steve's ear, rutting against him with little rhythm, and groans a curse. Wet warmth spreads over Steve's stomach and chest, and that's all it takes for him to come, too.

When it's over, Steve belatedly realizes he still has his socks on. He takes them off to clean them up with and tosses them aside. He can clean them or throw them out later. Right now, he just wants to be close to Bucky, who looks ready to fall asleep on top of him. Steve nudges him over until they're lying side by side on the cramped bed. Bucky's hair is an unholy mess, but he looks so content, Steve can't even find it in him to tease him.

“Do you remember anything else?” Steve asks, turning to look at him.

“Not really,” Bucky says. “Just that it feels like forever since I've touched another person.”

“You were the first man I ever touched, Bucky,” Steve says, “and the last. No one could compare.”

“That's very flattering,” Bucky replies, “but it doesn't make me remember any more.”

Then, a look of shock comes over Bucky's features. He sits up, staring intently at Steve, who looks back in confusion.

“You're Steve Rogers,” Bucky says. “I read that name before, but it didn't make sense until now. I knew you. I knew you.”

Steve starts to feel excited. Has Bucky finally remembered everything?

“What else?” he asks, sitting up so he can see his face better.

“I—I don't know. Not much,” Bucky says.

Steve's heart sinks.

“But I know I know you,” Bucky insists. “That has to be something, right?”

“Better than the torture,” Steve agrees.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and goes quiet.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head.

“It's all jumbled up in my head. I can't remember when anything happened, just that it did. I need...some help sorting through everything.”

“And remembering the rest of the important stuff,” Steve adds.

Bucky nods and lays down again. He closes his eyes and stays still for a long time, presumably trying to work his way through what he does remember. When he opens his eyes, he looks sad.

“Are you going to leave now?” he asks quietly.

“Well,” Steve replies, “no one knows where I am. I could stick around as long as you want me to.”

“It might be awhile,” Bucky warns him.

“I'm willing to stick around,” Steve says. “After all, you're my best friend.”

“Anyone would be privileged to have you as a best friend,” Bucky says.

“I say the same about you,” Steve tells him.

Bucky smirks.

“Okay,” he says, “get up. I'm getting cold.”

Bucky nudges Steve off the bed and stands up. He pulls the blankets back enough for them to slip under them, and when they do, he pulls the blankets back over them and molds himself against Steve's side. Steve throws an arm loosely over Bucky's waist and sighs. They rarely got to do this back in the day. Usually, it was just a quick rendezvous, and then they had to be on their way. It's nice.

“You really meant it when you said you'd stick around?” Bucky says a little while later.

“Of course,” Steve says. “I'll stay as long as it takes.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says.

“I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Bucky,” Steve says.

Bucky smiles and buries his head against Steve's shoulder. His breathing is slow, and his eyes are closed.

“I like it when you call me that,” he says. “It feels right.”

“So does this,” Steve says.

Bucky nods. Soon, he drifts off to sleep. Steve stays awake, thinking. It might be a long time before Bucky remembered everything about his life. He has no idea how he'll go about reminding Bucky of his childhood, because large parts of it, like memories of his parents, aren't Steve's to share. But he hopes that with time, more will be uncovered, and Bucky will start to heal from his traumatic experiences. For now, though, a nap sounds nice, and then maybe more coffee. They can deal with everything else later. They have, after all, nothing but time.


End file.
